Deed to Damnation

Moon Dance

Mrs. Ireland Delarue. She could barely believe that it was finally a done deal. And despite the unorthodox nuptials, in the end, she wound up pleasantly drunk and actually enjoyed the celebration. Henry had been hard to read as usual, barely interacting with guests unless they were offering envelopes of money. He collected those with a casual air and a simple nod. There had only been one point where she had become nervous.
Pastor Rossini was a robust man who enjoyed his food and drink and once he got over Henry's icy regard during the ceremony, he had no problem in indulging in a double helping of turkey and a sizable piece of wedding cake that Joss had baked. She watched as Henry left her abruptly and approached him just as he was about to take a mouthful of icing. There was a brief exchange that she couldn't hear, but by Henry's stance and Alberto's whitening pallor, she knew he had confronted him about the hefty donation he asked for to forgive her sin. The pastor was nodding persistently, his loose jowls jiggling with every shake of his head. Within moments, he approached both her and Henry as they opened another bottle of wine.
"I was honored to perform your nuptials, Ireland." He said, his voice shaky. "May the good lord bless and keep you."
He made the sign of the cross and with the other hand produced a fold of bills. It was exactly eighty dollars, the amount she had given him two days prior. She looked to see Henry glaring coldly and Alberto retreated to take refuge with the mayor.
"The good pastor waived your soul's price tag, Ireland." He told her. "What a good Christian he turned out to be, huh?"
His tone was dripping with sarcasm as he stared after Rossini. He motioned to one of his men who approached and leaned down so Henry could whisper something to him. The gangster nodded and left the barn immediately. Henry's expression had changed from dark to mild amusement.

It was just after dusk when the celebration came to a close. Ireland was surprised that so many had stayed until the end considering many were ordered to attend and give money they probably didn't have. But the atmosphere had been light and the music lively. There had been dancing and Joss had done a phenomenal job on feeding everyone scrumptious food. Only Tim and Gwen Drake had departed early, handing their gift to Missy to deliver to Henry. Ireland was glad for it. She couldn't forget the way Tim had looked at her. It was a look of disgust and she got the distinct feeling he had been trying to tell her something.
It was probably just to say his horrible opinion of me, she thought angrily. Why would that even matter? He was trying to hurt me, she concluded, payback for wounding him those years ago. And Henry had reminded him of it by making him participate in their union. That had most likely stoked his hatred of her even more.
She was suddenly exhausted, as if she had been carrying a heavy weight all day. Henry had her firmly by the wrist as he barked out orders to his men on what was to be done in his absence and the girls were busy cleaning up.
"Let's go, Ire." He finally said.
"I'm so tired." She confessed.
He was leading her outside where a covered wagon was waiting, a team of horses stamping impatiently.
"You can sleep for a while." He said, pulling back the flap on the canvas wagon cover. "We're going to be traveling for a bit."
Henry glanced in quickly, seemingly satisfied with what was inside and turned his full attention to his bride.
"I'll wake you when I find the perfect patch of stars I talked to you about." He drawled, snaking his arm around her. "I completely plan on fucking my new wife on my wedding night. This time I won't have to cut the clothes from you, will I?"
Ireland blushed and changed the subject. She knew it was strange that she was nervous about bedding him. He had ravaged her so many times and she had responded, an unwilling plaything with a rebellious body.
"I haven't packed anything." She said. "If we're leaving, I need..."
"You'll have everything you need." He answered, stepping back and allowing her to peek inside the wagon.
It had been packed but with enough space to move from the back to the wagon's helm with ease. There were sturdy wooden trunks and a low lying cot tucked neatly against the side wall with soft pillows and blankets ensuring a comfortable rest if needed.
"I had Missy take care of all that. Your trunk is the one at the foot of the bed."
Ireland eyed the other long, shallow trunk with the iron lock. She knew it contained guns and not just one.
"Miss Ireland!"
It was Missy, scampering up to them with a small toiletry bag and a big smile. Ireland was convinced she had never met someone so positive in her life despite the girl's troubled history.
"I'll let you say your goodbyes." Henry said dryly. "We're leaving in five."
When he was out of sight, Missy hugged her and her face got serious.
"Turn around." She whispered.
Ireland shot her a quizzical look but turned her back to Missy. She felt her unbuttoning the first few pearl buttons and loosening the dress's corset strings just a little.
"What are you doing?" Ireland gasped.
"This dress is gonna be a sum bitch to get out of gracefully." Missy told her. "That should help you a bit. Mr. Henry is gonna expect something special tonight and I want you to look beguiling when you strip for him, not a bumbling bimbo. Not that you're a bimbo!"
Ireland's stomach burned nervously at the thought of it.
She hadn't the first clue as to how to act seductive. All those times it was Henry who called the shots and he seemed to prefer it that way. She hoped that didn't change. The last thing she wanted to do is make a fool of herself.
Missy handed her the small satchel and gave a warm hug. She pulled away and grasped Ireland's shoulders, searching her panicked face.
"Don't look so frightened." She soothed. "You don't have to be ashamed of all those delicious feelings anymore. You're married now! Now you take those feelings and run with them!"
Ireland had never thought of that. It still seemed so shameful though. The sensations were sinful as was the fact that Henry Delarue was the one delivering them.
"That's enough cackling." Henry grumbled.
He had rejoined them, throwing a tied bedroll into the back of the wagon and contemplated the two women. His bride was blushing profusely and Missy was wearing a sly little smile.
"Any problems with the saloon, you go see Brendan, Missy. You know the drill. I don't want any of those women hiding money. Specifically Jordan. You give the percentage of her earnings to him. She's new and dumb as a coffin nail."
Ireland had seen the new face at the reception, clearing plates and serving the cake. She was a young brunette that looked as if she was barely out of her teens. The unwelcome thought of Henry 'breaking her in' flashed in her mind but she pushed it out quickly. She was already distressed enough.
"Will do, Mr. Henry." Missy answered and scurried off.
Asking when he would be back was out of the question. The answer was always when he was good and ready.
"Let's go, wife." He ordered, swooping her up and plopping her on the tailgate. "We've got some traveling to do and the sooner we get there, the better. How well can you shoot, Ireland?"
"Shoot?" She gasped. "Are you taking me on a hunting trip?"
Henry chuckled.
"No. It's just that when I go deep into the territories, I like to know how much protecting I need to be doing."
"Protecting?" She asked, looking at the locked gun box.
"You sound like a parrot, Ireland." He teased. "Come to think of it, you had no problem leveling your rifle at me the night I first laid eyes on you so I feel pretty secure."
She had done that. And he had anticipated it somehow, removing the bullets before she had come on scene. If he hadn't, she would have shot him dead. She had even pulled the trigger! What would have her fate been then? She would have been buried right next to her dead daddy, that's what it would have been. Instead, she was here, married to a man that she barely knew. And what she did know of him both scared and mesmerized her.
"I've shot a gun before." She huffed. "I've shot a gun even before I tried to shoot you."
Henry's eyes hardened momentarily before he shut the tailgate with a bang, securing her in the back. She watched as he climbed onto the helm and flicked the reins, urging the team into a slow trot as they pulled away from town.
She didn't ask how far they were going or even where. Knowing Henry, he wouldn't have told her anyway and in reality, she didn't want to know. It would only add to her building anxiety, so she unlaced her booties and kicked them off, feeling the cool night air on her bare feet and ankles. She was glad there were warm blankets. The nights were turning cold.
"Come up here, Ireland." He ordered. "Bring the rifle from under the cot."
Ireland did as he asked, pulling the weapon out and making her way to the seat next to him. He was toking thoughtfully on a pungent cigar, guiding the horses with ease out onto the darkened plains. Looking behind them, Ireland could see the faint oil lights in the windows of Solstice getting smaller and smaller. There was more than that though. There was a soft, flickering orange glow illuminating the distant tree line just on the outskirts of town and the smell of burning wood hung faintly in the air.
"I guess they're having a bonfire tonight." Ireland offered. "The celebration must have continued. Awful big for a bonfire though."
Henry regarded her for a moment and took a long draw on his smoke.
"Of sorts." Henry agreed. "It's more of a retribution than a celebration."
Ireland studied him but as usual he was indecipherable, his expression cold and hard.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked suspiciously.
"That's the church, Ireland. I hope the congregation's donations weren't in there. He's gonna need them to rebuild it." He said matter of factly.
"You burned the church?" She yelled.
Henry looked at her and gave a short laugh. Her eyes were as big as saucers and her mouth was hanging open in disbelief.
"I'm just disappointed I didn't get to do it myself." He admitted. "Nobody disrespects what belongs to me, especially my wife. I think I made my point, don't you?"
"But Henry!" She cried. "Where are they supposed to worship? Pastor Rossini lived in the back part of the church! Where is he going to go?"
Her outrage annoyed him. Here she was worried about a supposed holy man that took full advantage of her new found wealth.
"Don't fret, Ireland." He drawled. " Your god knows you weren't involved in the blasphemy. Isn't that the way that works? Your soul is still intact. I'm pretty sure I sold mine along the line somewhere. I'm not worried."
Ireland stood abruptly, her gown swishing in a poof of crinoline and lace.
"Ha! Sell your soul?" Ireland huffed. "You couldn't give that away to the devil himself! Actually, I doubt you even have one to give!"
He shot her a chilling side eye that made her shut her mouth right there and then. Henry didn't need to raise his voice to let anyone know what he was thinking. In fact, she had never even heard him do it. Not once.
"I suggest you go lie down now." He said.
It was more of a warning than a suggestion and she heeded it, disappearing into the dark shelter and laying on the cot. He scowled. She was still such a righteous brat. He knew those strap marks he left on her still stung to a certain degree and yet she still tried to cut him with that little razor tongue of hers. If he didn't know her as well as he had gotten to, he would have deemed her stupid. But Ireland wasn't stupid. She was cunning and stubborn and she would never stop clapping back because she didn't know how to. His scowl washed away, replaced by an expression of amusement. If he hadn't been in such a rush to get where they were going, he had half a mind to stop and reprimand her out here in the middle of nowhere. She would certainly look enticing bent over the tailgate and tethered in her sheer, lace peignoir, helpless and beautiful in her punishment. Afterwards, he would melt her slowly and he would make her beg for release. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, his sex stirring at the imagery. Yes. It was a shame that they weren't in a safe zone at the moment or he would have definitely fulfilled that need.
Ireland laid on the little bed and felt like she was drowning in her dress. As beautiful as it was, it was uncomfortable over so many hours. Since Henry ordered her back here, he hadn't said a word. She listened to the creaking of the wagon wheels and the buzzing of the night insects hiding in the tall grasses. Being alone with her thoughts was difficult. As much outrage she had shown when Henry admitted the torching of the church, she found that she wasn't all that upset about it. It's not like she would have condoned the act. Burning a house of God was a one way ticket to Hell but it did bother her that the pastor had taken advantage of her. If he had asked for more than two hundred dollars, she would have naively handed it over to be forgiven. Now the church was gone but she was sure the faithful of Solstice would help rebuild it and Pastor Alberto would have no problem finding a congregation member to stay with until it was done. If she was completely honest, Solstice was lucky they were only short a church, not a pastor. Alberto Rossini was spared by Henry or maybe even by the grace of god.
She wasn't sure exactly when she drifted to sleep but the sudden stop of the wagon stirred her. Henry's spurs hit the ground with a jingle and he was moving around the side towards the back. Ireland closed her eyes tight as he flashed the light of an oil lamp inside briefly and pulled out the bedroll. They were still alone. She was sure of that. The only noise was the easy huffing of the horses and Henry's boots shuffling in the loose dirt as he moved about. Soon there was the sound of crackling wood and the heady smell of a campfire. Henry's burning vanilla tobacco wafted in with it, sweet and pungent.
"Wake up, Ireland." He said loudly. "I want my wife."
Ireland swallowed hard. There was no use in feigning sleep. He would just come in and drag her outside anyway.
"I'm coming." She said warily.
She could see the glow of flames outside, casting twitching shadows against the wagon's canvased walls as she stood and edged her way towards the back. Taking a deep breath, she pulled back the flap and was startled to see Henry standing there, his face shrouded in shadowed, amber light. He grabbed her by the waist and lowered her to the ground easily. He handed her a whiskey bottle and she took a slug eagerly.
"Take another one, Ireland." He offered.
This time, she took an even bigger gulp, grimacing as it slid like liquid flame into her belly. Henry stared up at the night sky and she looked too. It had been too long since she had studied them like this and never in such a wide open space. There were millions of them and they sparkled as brightly as diamond on her finger. And then there was the moon. It hung in the sky, perfectly full and round, like a guardian of all those shining stars. It was so brilliant, it illuminated the vast plain in a frosted white light. Henry flicked his cigar into the fire, sat down on the bedroll and leaned back on his elbows.
"You said you didn't have a wedding gift for me when I gave you that mare." He stated, removing his hat and tossing it aside. "That wasn't true. It's under that dress. Take it off."
She stared down at him, terribly flustered with a tightening knot in her stomach. Missy had warned her that he would request this and that it was time to prove herself, to make him want no other if that's what she really desired.
There was no hesitation as she worked to open the back of the gown, grateful that Missy had at least started it. The way he was looking at her, undressing her with his eyes faster than she could do it, made her want to disappear. It also made her fingers tremble as she fumbled with the loosening lace ties. Finally she felt the cool night air on her back as the gown relented and opened, falling off of her shoulders and eventually pooling at her feet.
Henry drank her in. She was bathed in the amber glow of the campfire's licking flames mixed with the icy beauty of the moon's luminescent beams. It accented her womanly curves with flickering shadows. The fine silk lace of his personally chosen peignoir clung to her like a second skin, the glass gems glittering like tiny pieces of shimmering ice. Beneath the sheer, intricate material, he could see her breasts, their peaks topped with rose red nipples, the same color as her trembling bottom lip. It could have been the cold that made it quiver slightly, but he knew it was more likely nervous uncertainty, as if she didn't know what to do next.
"Let your hair down, Ireland." He ordered, his voice husky and low.
It had only been pulled back on the sides with a simple lace ribbon but enough that when she released it, it cascaded over her shoulders in golden copper ringlets. He put his hands behind his head and let his eyes travel over her slowly, enjoying her discomfort. She looked adorable in her distress as she was trying to be seductive.
"Peel off those stockings." He instructed. "Roll them down those shapely legs."
Ireland looked down at the clasps holding the silky material to her upper thighs. She hadn't even put these on. Missy and Robyn had dressed her and she was clueless on how to remove them. She saw the way he was looking at her, stifling a smirk at her awkwardness. It was making her angry. Doing this was hard enough without his silent mocking.
She fumbled with the little clasps, cursing under her breath as she poked a finger through the delicate silk and stumbled when she tried to release the one on the back of her leg. Henry caught her before she tipped over. She hadn't even heard him get up as she toiled with the annoying garters.
"Let me help you with that, Ireland." He whispered to her.
Before she could protest that she was fully capable of removing her own stockings, he dropped to his knees in front of her, grasping her thighs and nibbling at the tender skin. His breath was hot and his scruff course as it brushed her sex. Her peignoir came without undergarments, a purposeful move on Henry's part. He had forbidden those from the very beginning and Ireland hadn't owned a pair since.
Henry caught her with a lusty gaze, holding her eyes with his as he reached behind and unfastened the garter, rolling the silk down her leg. Closing his eyes, he pressed his mouth to her softness, gliding his tongue through her glistening folds. An involuntary moan escaped her throat as he found the source of her weakness and focused on the hidden pearl that began hardening and swelling with every flick of his exploring tongue. The rogue sensations coursed through her like a lightning strike, causing her legs to quake and Henry to support her crumbling body. She tangled her fingers in the soft waves of his hair wantonly and with abandon, without shame or trepidation. He peered up at her between determined strokes of his tongue and teasingly placed little sucks. Her feminine musk coated his beard as he pushed her towards surrender, gripping her thighs to steady her. She was lost in it and unable to hold any longer. When her release crashed down, her cry rose into the night sky, primal and uncontrolled as she felt Henry guide her to the ground. He stood above her and released his gun belt, letting it fall to the dirt with a dull thud.
"Crawl to me." He said sternly but softly. "Show me that you know how to be my wife."
He took a few steps back and waited, his pants undone but his sex still hidden and pressing to get out. That was for his bride to do, willingly and dutifully. It was a life that she would have to get used to. To his pleasant surprise, she snaked towards him until she was at his feet.
"Just a taste, dear wife." He growled. "I want to savor all of you and I want to take my time doing it."
Ireland nodded and opened his breeches even more, pulling his rigid manhood from its confines and enclosing it in her small fist. She was so nervous she felt dizzy. Even though she had him in this way before, it didn't stop the fear and anxiety that was welling up inside of her. He had forced this on her the first time and the lessons had stuck. She would always remember how to touch him from that point on but it still scared her.
Gently, she took him in her mouth and she heard him moan softly at the lush warmth. She let her tongue slide over his length, feeling the smooth and veined flesh and accepted a sudden buck of his hips, her throat straining to take all of him in. For the first time, she grasped his hips and pulled him in deeper, surprised by the deep growl it invoked. She never would have dreamed of doing such a thing in her life. She also could never have imagined the sensations he offered and that it was no longer sinful to feel them.
"Are you trying to end our wedding night so soon?" He murmured. "You learned your lessons well, my little whore wife."
His words infuriated her, yet she knew that in his language, it was a term of affection in a way. Those were the only women he chose to surround himself with, deeming them more honest than most of the female persuasion.
Despite his crude compliment, she worked to please him. How much was too much? He said only a taste but he seemed hesitant to make her stop, basking in the pleasure she offered him with her mouth and tongue. With a pained groan, he finally withdrew and petted her hair with his large palm.
"Very good, Mrs. Delarue." He purred, moving away and sprawling out on the bedroll. "Now come over here and fuck your husband."
Ireland's breath hitched in her throat. He lay there waiting for her, his manhood unleashed and pointing straight up. He expected her to be on top, to impale herself on him with no fear! But how could he expect her to do that without being afraid? All she could picture was all of his women, beautiful and bold in their talents of pleasing men and he had bedded them all. How could she compare to them? There was no doubt he was going to be disappointed in her clumsy attempt at satisfying him in this way. As if sensing her trepidation, he summoned her with his hand.
"Come here." He drawled. "Don't fear this, Ireland. You were made for it."
She approached cautiously, accepting his gentle guidance by standing over him and straddling his lean torso. He reached down and steadied his member in his fist.
"Ride it." He ordered and waited for her next move.
Ireland squatted over him, feeling him at her entrance and she froze. This is going to be so humiliating, she thought as she looked down into his face. He was staring back in impatient anticipation. Suddenly, Missy's words echoed in her head. 'You don't need to be ashamed of those delicious feelings anymore', she had said. 'You're married now. Take those feelings and run with them.'
It was as good of a plan as any considering she was sure that Henry was going to ask things like this of her a lot. He was insatiable when it came to his needs and wants no matter what the capacity.
She pressed both hands to his shoulders and eased herself down until he was inside of her. Her sex was ready and accepted him, her slick walls tightening around his girth that had once been so painful. There was no discomfort now, just a rush of excitement. He sucked in his breath sharply when she moved to receive him completely and she stopped, afraid that she may have hurt him. But his hands found the swell of her hips and he moved them for her, bucking easily as he shifted both their bodies and began moving together as one. The way he thrust his hips shot a jolt of intense pleasure throughout her womb and she gasped. It was so different from the other ways he had ravaged her. This time, he had given her some control, allowing her to learn what she liked and enjoyed.
"Keep moving." He commanded. "And don't stop until you soak me with that sweet cunny juice. Do you understand?"
She nodded quickly, blushing at his raw words and began gently swaying her hips, seeking out the exquisite sensation she had inadvertently found. Henry's hands traveled to her waist where he grabbed the delicate lace of her bodice and helped to begin bouncing her slowly. An incredible wave of bliss exploded suddenly between her legs, stealing her very breath. He was bucking harder now, filling her and then lifting her almost completely off of him and then back down again. She moaned unabashedly as the climax hurtled towards her.
"Take it." He groaned. "Be greedy, Ireland."
He could barely contain himself watching her lose herself to the all consuming pleasure that was radiating throughout her body. She had her eyes closed and her head thrown back, chasing her own climax for the very first time and watching her was about to make him come undone. Her gyrations quickened and he met every swirl of her hips with eager thrusts as he reached up and cupped her heaving breasts, pinching her nipples until they were as hard as pebbles. He pulled her down, burying his face in her cleavage and biting the little pink points until he heard her gasp. Escaping the exquisitely painful nipping, she pushed herself up and began rolling her hips, keeping him fully embedded inside of her. Ireland's breathing was erratic as she rocked on him, discovering that hidden place he had shown her once and she cried out at the power of the raw surge of ecstasy that shot through her. Her eyes flew open as she crested the wave and her sex gushed a torrent of her sugar, a reaction that used to humiliate and confuse her. She collapsed against his chest and he exploded, her clenching sex milking him of everything he had.
She laid against him listening to his thudding heart. It seemed to match hers, pounding heavily as she came down. In that moment of ecstasy, she had lost all fears of what Henry would think of her. She had taken Missy's advice and abandoned herself along with what she long held as her dignity. Following the sinful sensations had been much easier than expected and it was freeing and exhilarating but as her body returned to normal, the same old doubts and guilt crept back into her mind slowly. Part of her wanted to know what he thought of her but she would never dare ask. She wasn't about to give him an open invitation to pick her apart. He already held enough power over her.
If she had known what he was thinking, all those fears and anxieties would have been put to bed. Henry was extremely satisfied with her and himself. Ireland had given her whole self, releasing the little vixen he knew lay dormant inside her. For that, he took credit for. He had molded her into this and it seemed she had finally accepted it. He only hoped that she would be as compliant as she was this night, although forcing release on her was a game he enjoyed playing. He was pretty sure deep down inside, she liked it too. She was trained that way.
Wrapping his arms around her, he gently guided her to his side and rolled on top of her, grabbing her small jaw and kissing her deeply.
"I want you to take off the rest of your finery, Ire. As ravishing as it was, I want to see you just as natural as this scenery." He said, standing and replacing his gun belt. "Although, the landscape doesn't hold a candle to the way you look right now."
He turned and stoked the fire just a little more. That was all she was going to get from him but it was more than she expected as far as easing her doubts. If he truly had been displeased, he would have said nothing or he would have made her do it again, the way he liked it.
She stripped off the rest of the peignoir, tucking it beneath the bedroll pillow and pulled the course blanket over her. The heat of the moment had worn off and the chill of the late night made her shiver. Henry furrowed his brows and pulled it off of her.
"I want to look at you." He informed her. "There's nothing more enticing than a naked woman by my campfire."
"But I'm cold." She protested, visibly shivering under his gaze.
She was cold. He saw the way her skin had goosebumps and that her nipples had tightened to hard, pink points. She looked absolutely delicious and he thought about having her again, this time for his pleasure alone because she would have to get used to that too.
"I can't stoke the fire anymore." He told her. "I don't want to call more attention to us than I already have. And I'm not going to lay with you to keep you warm either. I have to keep watch."
For a moment, she thought maybe he wanted her exposed regardless of her discomfort just to have something pleasing to look at but replaced the rough cover and she curled into it.
"What are you watching for?" She asked, peering at him from under the blanket.
"Nothing you need to be concerned about." He answered. "Now get some sleep."
He lowered the tailgate and sat down, lighting another fragrant cigar and took his gun from the holster. She asked no more questions and he said nothing else. Finally, she fell into a dreamless sleep with her new husband standing vigil.

Ireland's wake up call was better than any steaming cup of coffee could have done. The bedroll blanket was torn away from her and Henry was standing over her, the morning sun behind him, obscuring his face. She blinked her eyes against the sudden light and sat up quickly. Henry wasn't the only shadowed figure standing above her. She gasped and pulled the cover back over her naked body when she realized it was the young Brave she had come across the day she lost her mare. His name was Dark Eagle if she recalled correctly. Impatiently, Henry ripped the blanket away again, this time rolling it up and tucking it beneath his arm.
"Dark Eagle wants to look at you, Ireland." Henry drawled. "He's never seen a white woman in the raw before."
Would he ever stop finding new and inventive ways of humiliating her? All she could do was sit there and blush like an idiot. She flinched as the young native got down on a knee and inspected her. Once again, he reached for a tendril of her hair and ran it between his long, brown fingers, marveling at the unusual color. His eyes drifted between her legs, eyeing the matching, trimmed patch of hair. He looked to Henry and said something in the language she didn't understand and he responded in the same. Whatever was said, both men laughed and that infuriated her. She popped to her feet, startling Dark Eagle, who jumped backwards and reached for the hilt of his knife.
Lunging for the blanket, she struggled when Henry caught her by the wrist and slammed her into him, twirling her so her arm was twisted behind her back and she was face to face with an obviously irritated savage.
Henry spoke in the native language again. Whatever he said eased the young man. His expression softened and he took his hand away from his weapon. He was still frowning though and giving her a look of disdain. There was another brief exchange and Dark Eagle gave a nod, retreating to mount his large, red stallion and moved away from the camp. He stayed across the field, obviously waiting for them to pack up and follow him. Finally, Henry released her arm and spun her around to face him.
"Don't get all high and mighty, Ireland." He growled. "While you carry my last name, you're still my possession. And like all my possessions, I do what I want with them. If I decide to share your beauty, I'll do it. Not only that, you will comply."
He gave her a shove that sent her back a few steps and began packing up the bedroll. When he saw her standing there, staring at him stupidly, he barked.
"Go get dressed or I'll haul you naked into his village. I'm sure the men in the tribe have never seen what you have to offer."
Although his order for her to go put on some clothes was loud and clear, it took a few moments to process. He was taking her to a tribal village? The guns in the wagon suddenly made much more sense. They weren't for protection at all! It was a trade or a payment of some kind and he had brought her along with him, making her complicit in his nefarious dealings. She realized with mounting horror that she was in way over her head. And now she was about to engage the savages her father had warned her about with a husband who had no qualms about displaying her in whatever capacity he desired.
She heard Henry let out a disgruntled huff and found herself being swept off her feet and carried to the back of the wagon and being deposited with a rough thump.
"There's a prairie dress in your trunk that's suitable until we arrive." He informed her. "When you're done, join me up front."
As Henry began driving the team towards uncertainty, Ireland dressed in a simple but pretty gingham dress and matching bonnet. She was surprised by the choice but grateful it was not overly seductive although the bodice was tight and form fitting. When she sat next to him, he handed her the reins and tipped his hat over his eyes.
"Follow Dark Eagle." He instructed. "Do you think you can handle the horses while I sleep or are you going to lose them too?"
She glared at him, her green eyes like daggers. But he had his hat over his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to push him off his seat and watch him hit the ground hard. As if sensing her ire, he drawled,
"I hope you enjoyed the control I gave you last night and the fact that I'm trusting you with following my friend here. I wouldn't try to take advantage of my generosity."
As he dozed, Ireland trailed the native for miles until she saw smoke rising from the distant foothills. She elbowed Henry in the ribs and not too gently either. He stirred and stretched his long arms and gave her a sly smile.
"It's showtime, Ire. I'm sure you'll make me proud. We both know what a talented little actress you are."
Ireland wasn't sure what he meant by that but she was not looking forward to whatever performance he had in mind..

Hi! I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I have a little research to do before I add the next chapter. My aim is to be as historically accurate as possible including Native American customs and rituals from back in the day. Thanks for everyone's support! Love ya peeps!💕